The Labor enquirer., 1887-03-05
TH1 mon xo4DlR3 nAuaHTlR
IA Tale d Tsut d About : Dsush-
tn Of the
People.
For The Rlouirer.

For The Riauirer.
I saw her thrice, POOR Marion. Once
dark and spsudid in smiling beauty In
her humble home at table with her
father, 16Iy ears Of age; then that gentle
laugh Of hers was sunlight set to tune.
Another time in silk an satin in rich
mans carriage lovelier vet but with eyes
that haunt me to this day. And yet
again upo On the cold marble of the
morgue, dead, dead, dead.
Her father was molder and toiled
his life away amid the scorching fur.
mace fires he was brought home burnt
almost to . cindef one weary day but it
was only 40 sccidentand no man respons-
ible. And upon none devolved the duty
Of caring for his ofohan child. The fac
tory door only var open for her.
One who knew her we'll told me the
tale Of her strugal lie for bread. First q
paper box girl at s. week-but this
only for month, The foreman's In
suits rejected with scorn and contempt
opened the street door for her and sci
her "free' to sRain hunger and search
for work.
A month in the laundry after four
weeks Of almost starvation. And then
again the slave driver seeking mis-
tress and finding an honest girl, turning
her out Of doors. Then to the cracker
factory and here attracting the notice of
the employers son; then another month
Of misery and cold and hunger out Of
work. Then with clothes that were
rags, TO the cannery and here seated
side BY side with the poorest and most
miserable Of eartl, she earned for three
autumn % onths 40 cents a day. When
work stopped here back to her garret to
toll with her nee lie on shirts at cents
apiece. This failing at last and driven
insane BY hunger and cod, with her
pinched shoulders showing through the
rags Of her dress, she sold her body on
the streets.
Once fallen" wealth bid high for her
smiles. No more hunger, no more cold,
no more sinking 10 a wearie sleep on
bed Of rags, but gllded luxury masking
the hideops face of capItalistic love"
But her heart was broken. And the
wan, sad eyes and tremuIous lips, the
nervous band and faint flushed cheek
told the tale Of terrible inward struggle.
The great ferry.boa was crossing the
bay from the Alameda shore one Sum
day eve in June. The stars above we're
Of cleaning gold, the waters eneath OF
sapphire blue, and. blown off from the
banks of roses on the other shore the
warm and heavy seen ei air swept sw eet
across thelvessel. Just then two harpists,
Italian children, touched their strings
Of mu-ic and the soft note, Of barcarolle
aoaiel across the waters. Looking
down to tbe Setdeck amid this perfect
harmony | saw woman walk swiftly
to the end throw up her arms and with
one wild cry plunge into the waves.
Hoane shouts and orders. the swift
running Of feet, the slowing of engines,
the clearing away of the boat and the
long and fruitless search. How well
remember them all. Then the reluct-
ant aband donment and the slow steam :
ing Of the vessel to Its berth. 81
They found her next day. More
beautiful ia death than in life.
This poem was her epitaph, written
BY Ross MARTIN. that it might v axe to
thought and action for the right, those
sleeping toilers who suffer such wrongs
as these u 90 unpunished aud unpre-
vented: